


The Great Bloody Game

by Smushed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood Play, Human Sherlock, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, Vampires, reluctance, vampire jim moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smushed/pseuds/Smushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was Jim's favourite game, and reluctantly, it was becoming Sherlock's too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Bloody Game

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by inferno92's beautiful art work: http://inferno92.tumblr.com/post/67252439449/colored-pencil-on-paper-a3-someone-please-write

Sherlock's mouth moved into a thin line, gripping his lips with his teeth, his frustrated brow knitted causing the beads of sweat from his struggling to drip from his eyelashes. His deep airy growls had subsided before his head lolled back from frustration. A beam of white light was shining on Sherlock from above, this caused his pale skin to glow, the shadows intensified his protruding muscles and bones. Sherlock's ribs rose into view on every inhale and his skin screamed in protest against the rope that was restricting him to the chair. The brown twine held Sherlock beautifully against the back of the chair, and the mop of unruly curls were beginning to stick to his head. 

Jim Moriarty strolled from the darkness, emerging from the pitch black in an equally dark and handsomely fitted suit, the milkiness of his skin made Sherlock's eyes narrow from the brightness. "Hello, _Sher-_ lock." He was smiling, a childish, thin grin. Sherlock's name was spoken so purposefully against that Irish accent, a roll in the 'r', a kick in the 'k'. "You have no idea how  _stunning_ you look right now." His smile broadened as the patent shoes clacked against the concrete. Sherlock sighed, his efforts to struggle made him irate and exhausted. His skin was glistening with his persperation, and Jim  _loved_ it. This was Jim's favourite game, and reluctantly, it was becoming Sherlock's too. 

The detective knew what was coming next, but it still didn't prepare him, every time those teeth would penetrate his flesh it would feel like the first time. The marks on the left of his neck had moved down to his shoulder, and the right was catching up with the left with its glorious two-pointed symmetry. No one ever wondered why Sherlock still wore his blue scarf even though the spring was approaching. Sherlock wriggled in hesitant anticipation. Jim's paper white hand smoothed over Sherlock's stiff clenced fist, and his index and middle finger walked up his arm, causing Sherlock's skin to tighten as a shiver ran down his back.

"I might try something new today." Jim's voice moved from in front of Sherlock to behind, the voice loomed behind his left ear then his right. "I can't wait to hear you lose it this time, Darling." Sherlock shut his eyes, the ghosting breath over the cuff of his ear made his teeth tighten the grip on his lips. The detective tensed, waiting, anticipating, cautious and the warmth of Moriarty's body moved away from him, the phantom of breathing stopped skirting his flesh and he relaxed, exhaling and his shoulders sank. 

Jim bit down then, sudden and piercing. Sherlock's vision went white for a moment as the searing of his flesh being torn subsided into a hot sting, the sound he hadn't realised had escaped him was echoing all around, a gasping groan. Jim tongued the wound, sucking and kissing the holes he had made, making his teeth scrape against them to pool more blood out of the punctures. Sherlock was shaking, knuckles white with tension and his head tossed to the side so Jim had full access to his neck, his heart pumping his blood faster, his blood moving to his groin as he hardened. Sherlock cursed under his breath. 

Jim loved it, Sherlock's reluctance to accept his arousal, his denial that he loved it, he loved the pale body tense beneath his fangs, he adored Sherlock's neck. It was slender, it had muscles and dents and tendons that shone to him at all the perfect angles, he would never bore of drinking from this man. He pulled off Sherlock's neck, the scarlet dripping down his snow white chin, he perched his head against Sherlock's and hugged him from behind. The detective's eyes were shut, and remnants of his moans were still echoing in his throat. Sherlock felt his own blood trickle down his torso, warm and soothing before Jim's lips met his from the side. Moriarty kissed him- soft and languid, his lips clasping over Sherlock's open mouth, who sat unreciprocating, just accepting Jim's tongue into his mouth, tasting his own metallic crimson with each swipe of the vampire's tongue.


End file.
